


Responsibility

by broflcvskii



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Post-College AU, depressing adulthood shit, everyone is secretly sad and depressed about their lives going nowhere, im not american i keep saying 'university' fuck this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8332837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broflcvskii/pseuds/broflcvskii
Summary: Five years after the overwhelming optimism and promise of high school graduation, Kyle Broflovski's high school class puts together an unofficial reunion back in South Park, where Kyle hasn't set foot since he was eighteen. Now, on the verge of turning twenty-three, with a useless college degree, a shitty apartment, and no job prospects, Kyle returns to South Park to face the realities of his sense of personal failure. It definitely doesn't help that he hasn't spoken to his host for the weekend, Stan Marsh, in two years. Now, Kyle has forty-eight hours to repair a destroyed friendship, and convince himself there's some hope for himself after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> part 1 of 2!! probably 2. might be 3. probably 2. 
> 
> this is unedited because i'm lazy af.

A disconcerting mixture of nostalgia, anxiety, and uncanny familiarity cut into Kyle’s abdomen as the car door slammed behind him, the mountain air mercilessly flooding his lungs, at once wonderfully sweet after so many years of city suffocation, and yet still somehow claustrophobic, too thick with memory to ever be refreshing. He could only allow himself so much nostalgia; the drive from Denver and the three hour flight had weakened his stomach, or perhaps it was being back in his childhood home again, he couldn’t quite differentiate the senses of motion and illness that rocked his gut jarringly. Pulling his duffel from the back seat, he offered Clyde another sincere thank you, (“Seriously, man, thank you so much for coming to the airport to get me, I’ll bring you some cash for gas tonight, promise.”) before he gave a lethargic wave towards the car, listening to it creep back towards the street as he made his way towards the house, its stuccoed sides perhaps a little more worn by weather than he last recalled, but not enough to mark a significant passage of time. His boots crunched over greyed and packed snow (Stan had told him it hadn’t snowed for at least a week) his thumb sliding up the strap on his bag as he retraced steps he had made a thousand times before, up the concrete stairs to the door, where he knocked rhythmically, puffing up his chest in anticipation of the greeting he would receive. 

He hadn’t expected it to be this long until he returned back to South Park. At first Kyle had anticipated he would study in Boulder, but that was before he won the three scholarships, and before he discovered he was accepted to Columbia, and then everything had changed, and optimism had trumped any sense of trepidation Kyle had had about leaving home. It had been harder than he had anticipated to leave his friends behind (Kyle didn’t realize just how much damage isolation had done him until it was halfway through second year and he had had four drinks too many for the third time that week and he found himself cradling cold porcelain, wondering why he couldn’t escape the overwhelming sensation that something was just incorrect, that the world had shifted and he had stayed in place, misaligned from how everything was intended to be) but in five years, he had made it through, he had survived, and he returned to South Park a champion, with a trophy to prove his valour. Honours Bachelor of Science. Major in applied mathematics, minors in film and political science. It had taken him a year longer to achieve than anticipated, but it was a hell of a lot better consolation prize than half of his graduating high school class had. 

The undermining insecurity that had been eating at Kyle’s lungs since he had agreed to attend this unofficial five-year high school reunion had lessened its gnawing as soon as Clyde had informed him of his former classmates’ fates, or at least those Clyde still kept in contact with or had on Facebook. Of the thirty-three people in their class, nineteen had intended to complete post-secondary education, and eight had left South Park to attend college elsewhere. Only Kyle, Token, Wendy, Bebe, and, oddly enough, Cartman, had finished their degrees and hadn’t returned to South Park to switch to a more familiar and less intense community college education, where the other eleven more ambitious classmates had decided to attend. Of that total fourteen, ten received community college diplomas, and the rest left partway through for full time jobs. Suddenly Kyle’s sense of shame regarding his extra year, his lower-than-desired graduating GPA, and his lack of graduate studies intentions felt less like a badge of shame than they did vaguely humanizing factors that would perhaps help him relate to his peers. Even then, Kyle felt a little alien. The past five years of his life had been normal to him and to all he had studied with, but university education was not the norm back in South Park. You didn’t need a fancy degree to get a full time job to save up for a house (with a mortgage, of course) and to raise a couple of kids with a dog and a picket fence. It was a reminder that Kyle didn’t belong here – if he ever really had. 

Kyle’s anxiety spiked as the door swung open in front of him, but the face on the other side was not what he had anticipated. She had gotten almost pretty in her own way, her mid-twenties showing on her face in the thin progression of lines, but fullness of her cheeks and lips that was no longer babyish but instead robust and healthy. “Hey, Kyle,” Somewhere around her grade twelve year, she had stopped being cruel to her younger brother and his friends, and instead had decided they didn’t exist. Kyle had half expected her to continue this pattern, but she was an adult now (far more than he was), twenty-six and, if he could recall correctly what he had been told, working as a receptionist in an insurance adjuster’s office. 

“Hey Shelley,” He said with more excitement than he had anticipated communicating. He peaked around her shoulder hopefully, and what almost could have been amusement flashed across Shelley’s face. She really had changed in five years, though, Kyle supposed, they all had. 

“Hey, loser, Kyle’s here.” She called out, taking a few steps back from the door, and Kyle couldn’t help but allow a grin to spread over his features. Perhaps things hadn’t changed as much as he had thought. Bounding footsteps thundered over hardwood and Kyle didn’t have a chance to gain his bearings before he was nearly pushed backwards down the steps by a body being thrown onto his own, broad and warm and familiarly smelling vaguely of drug store body spray and that laundry detergent you could buy at Costco with in the lavender plastic bottle. 

“Hey, dude!” Stan didn’t let his hug linger too long (tension and questions lay between them too thickly for their movements and glances to not be exquisitely calculated) and when he pulled back to look at Kyle, a hand resting familiarly on Kyle’s bicep, he beamed with unbridled joy. Kyle wondered if he had practiced for this moment, at least internally, in an attempt to craft between them a moment of greeting that would disregard the last two years. “Come on in, we’ve got the guest room set up for you.” 

When Stan had come to visit Kyle during the thanksgiving break of Kyle’s third year, Stan had looked far worse than he did now. He had gained weight, and his skin was pallid and washed out, exhaustion showing in the sallowness of his cheeks and the lankness of his hair. His body had seemed to give up on presenting an outwards appearance of success, instead allowing the doubt and frustration to paint itself in vivid yellows and plums upon his skin. During high school, Stan had not physically lived up to his own hopes – he had anticipated a broad chest and shoulders, and a nearly half a foot more in height than he had achieved, the sort of body to make him successful at football, or, hell, Stan would even take a sport he cared less about like basketball or even baseball, but he stayed small and relatively weak, his asthma worsening as high school stress weighed down heavy on his health. He had barely reached five-ten, and while he stayed quite fit until graduation, the years after that had seen him pack on enough weight to be noticeable, and it did not fit his figure the way that Stan might have hoped. 

Now, however, he looked far healthier, his skin clearer, his haircut fitting his face better, and he had lost nearly all the weight that stress and depression had stacked onto his form, keeping what little remained in a new layer of strength and muscle – Kyle realized he must have started working out some time after that fateful visit, and for that Kyle was secretly thankful. For a moment, Kyle wanted to pull Stan back into an embrace, if only because he was so desperately relieved to see that Stan had turned things around, that he was in a place where he could take care of himself. His bright smile almost seemed genuine, though Kyle knew Stan well enough to know that discomfort still lay between them, and Stan’s outward friendliness was certainly situational. Though he was glad that Stan had pulled out that winning smile for him, that he cared enough about how Kyle saw him to put on his best face. 

“Hey – “ Kyle said, a bit too late, his own smile perhaps not as secure as Stan’s, but he never had been. It was still strange to be this much taller than Stan, the five inches between them having been discovered when Stan had showed up at Kyle’s Queen’s apartment, and Kyle had realized he had grown two inches since leaving South Park. Now a rail-thin giant at six feet, three inches, Kyle felt even more alien being back in his childhood home. “Seriously, thanks for letting me stay with you – “ 

“No worries,” Stan ushered him inside, out of the cold, reaching for Kyle’s bag without hesitation. Kyle passed it to him, despite being perfectly capable of carrying it himself, if only because he didn’t realize that until it was perhaps too late (he wondered if he flushed at his impoliteness, as he felt warmth bite at his cheekbones) but he used it as an excuse to take off his jacket and boots, setting them neatly by the door, which he closed behind him. “I guess I kinda forgot your family had moved out of town until I saw your email.” 

It had, unsurprisingly, been Clyde who had set up this five-year reunion, sending a mass email to all of the addresses he must have manually found from either Facebook or individual questioning (without knowing what it was for, he had provided Clyde with that of Kenny, Craig, Red, and Nichole) back before December, inviting all of their classmates for a get-together to catch up and simultaneously feel better and worse about what they had spent the past five years doing. Or perhaps that was just Kyle projecting his own anxieties upon the event, but he wasn’t quite sure what else high school reunions were for. Politely, Kyle had declined by mass-reply, if only so that he could apologize to all of his classmates and wish them the best, wanting to make sure his denial seemed impersonal. He no longer had family in South Park and therefore had nowhere to stay, and would feel bad putting anyone in a position to host him for the weekend. Only when he received five replies from classmates offering to do just that did he realize he had perhaps not been as firm in his email as he had wished, rather sounding like he was politely asking without doing so directly than saying no, as he and wanted to. Seeing so many of his class genuinely wanting to help him return in order to see him again made him feel vaguely guilty, and besides – one of those emails was from Stan, with whom he hadn’t spoke in nearly two full years. 

It had been so simple, so succinct that it simultaneously reassured Kyle that maybe, just maybe, this could be an opportunity to repair their friendship, and had filled his gut with a cold sense of dread. ‘Hey, Kyle, you can come stay at mine for that weekend if you want. Let me know if you still need a place, it’s no big thing. Cheers, Stan.” 

It seemed so casual and thoughtless, but perhaps Stan had spent as much time agonizing over each word choice as Kyle had spent analyzing them. It had been the most convenient excuse to begin correspondence with Stan once more, and Kyle had jumped on it enthusiastically, though he considerably delayed each response to Stan in order to make his desperation seem less obvious. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s been a couple of years now – it still throws me for a loop sometimes.” Kyle stated without much conviction. He had actually grown quite used to his family being in New Jersey again, but that wasn’t the sort of thing that you were supposed to admit to in such conversations. They had moved back to finish up Ike’s last few years of high school at a private, technical college (Ike had been characteristically stoic about leaving high school half way through his years, but Kyle had sensed his frustration that he was somewhat left out of the equation) and Kyle suspected they had wanted to be closer to Kyle too, though he was glad it still was a couple of hours by train between them, meaning he managed to achieve some distance between himself and his overbearing family. 

He had discovered he was actually quite glad for the closeness when Ike had run away from home and stayed with him for a weekend (he had called his mother and told her that Ike had come to him, though he had assured Ike he hadn’t done just that and would keep his location a secret. He knew, however, that if he didn’t inform Sheila Broflovski just where her youngest son was that she would have the entire country on lockdown within a few hours). While he disliked the smothering sensation of being so close to his parents, he was glad that he had been there to take in his brother when his first thought had been to get as far away from his parents as he safely could. Kyle hadn’t blamed Ike – it was the first time Kyle allowed one of his papers to be late, because he stayed home with his brother all weekend instead of studying, watching 50s horror films and eating junk food and occasionally talking about what it was like to be a teenager and to deal with moving around. Ike didn’t often open up, especially not to Kyle, but he had been vulnerable and upset and so he had admitted a handful of fears and anxieties, which, for Kyle, was a victory. Ike had even hugged him before getting back on the train (Ike had called their mother that morning, and she had pretended Kyle had never been in communication with her, which Kyle was relieved about, and she assured Ike she was worried sick but wasn’t angry at him. Kyle was surprised his mother could be so careful and purposeful about how protective she was, and he found himself reevaluating much of his childhood experiences with Sheila and how overbearing he had found her.) Ike had come to visit him a few other times, but after that first time in Kyle’s second year, he always told his parents before he left. 

Stan ushered Kyle further inside, accompanying him up to the guest bedroom, Kyle’s bag still slung over his shoulder, Kyle noted with slight embarrassment. The house was almost identical to when Kyle had seen it last, nearly as familiar as his own childhood home, but a few details jarred the image, reminding Kyle he was an outsider here now. They had repainted the dining room, there was a new armchair in the living room, a couple of the family photos on the walls had changed. It was the same house, but time had passed, life had continued to happen even without Kyle there to experience it. 

“So, how’s life?” It was a broad question, and for a moment it stuck in the back of Kyle’s throat as he attempted to ask it, coming out as choked and awkward in its articulation as it felt in Kyle’s mind. Stan, however, seemed as pleasant as always as he pushed open the door to the guest bedroom, setting Kyle’s bag down. 

“Great!” Stan’s answer reminded Kyle that Stan was giving him a small-talk answer. He no longer felt comfortable being honest with Kyle – and Kyle couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of guilt in his gut as he reminded himself just why that was. Then again, he was note entirely responsible for what had happened, it was on them both. Perhaps that was why he had accepted Stan’s offer so eagerly, why he had come back in the first place. He wanted to hear Stan apologize. And he knew he should do the same, but his inclination to do so was far more weighed down by anxiety than relief. “I’ve been working at Sooperfoods for the past couple of years and they’re going to move me to an assistant manager position. I’m looking at getting a place of my own soon, if the position works out, which should be great.” Stan spoke as if he were at a job interview, too calm and self-assured to be the Stan that Kyle remembered. 

“That’s awesome,” Kyle answered, unable to keep the sadness from his voice. He tried a different approach this time, offering his own openness to see if Stan would drop his guard even for a moment. “I don’t really know what I’m gonna do after this – I finished my degree up a few weeks ago but I don’t really have any job prospects. Probably won’t be able to stay in New York, it’s a pretty expensive place, but I guess I’m just glad to have college behind me, you know?” 

Kyle wanted to collapse down onto the bed in relief when he saw Stan’s gaze soften into ambivalence for a moment, his smile faltering into something more genuine. “Yeah, when you’ve been doing something for that long, I guess it’s a little weird to suddenly have to completely change everything. Get thrown into the real world.” 

“Yeah.” Kyle recalled with another twinge of guilt that this probably wasn’t actually all that relatable for Stan – he had attended community college himself, but had worked all throughout it, and now seemed to be progressing up the ladder he had started halfway through his diploma. Kyle’s guilt only worsened when he realized he couldn’t remember what Stan had studied. “So, um, where’s your family? Other than Shelley, I mean – though, also, I didn’t think she still lived here.” 

“She doesn’t – plumbing issues in her apartment, she’s here for the weekend. And my parents went out of town yesterday.” Stan gave Kyle a sheepish grin, and Kyle still found it difficult to find Stan’s amusement genuine. “They found out you were coming and I think they got out of here as fast as they could.” 

“Hey!” Kyle retorted indignantly, while Stan laughed. It sounded empty and friendly and Kyle hated the sound of it. “I was always very nice to your parents. Most of the time. And I was always a great guest. “ 

“Yeah, you were, but we got into a lot of trouble as kids. I think they just didn’t want to be accessories.” Stan gave Kyle another broad grin, and Kyle wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake all the cold, distant politeness out of him. 

“So, what’s the itinerary for the evening?” Kyle changed the subject abruptly, sitting down on the edge of the bed – he was perhaps a little embarrassed that he had to crane his neck to look down at Stan nowadays. 

“Well, we’re all meeting at the bar for eight o’clock, and I know a few of us kinda talked about going for dinner before hand – you’re totally invited, by the way, they knew you were coming and stuff.” Stan glanced at Kyle as he said this last part, and Kyle recalled with a surge of warmth that Stan had remembered Kyle’s strange anxiety about not being explicitly invited to things. When they were in high school, Kyle would always become incredibly nervous when going to a party or to even simply hang out with classmates when Stan had been the one to be invited and he hadn’t – despite them rarely going anywhere together. He couldn’t escape the notion that, if it wasn’t specified he could come, then he was unwanted, and Stan had always had to reassure him that this wasn’t the case (it never was). 

“Yeah, cool, I’m down for that.” Kyle pulled his phone from his back pocket and check the time, noting with discomfort that he hadn’t eaten since a few hours before his plane, and he was beginning to feel a little lightheaded. But, despite this being Stan, who’s fridge he used to raid without asking, he felt a little uncomfortable requesting food now, though he didn’t think he would make it the three hours until an acceptable dinner hour. 

“There’s some pizza in the fridge if you want.” Kyle looked up with alarm, wondering if Stan had gained telepathy since Kyle had left. So much was strange that it wouldn’t be that shocking to Kyle if he was being honest. “I – it’s a long flight, I just assumed you might be hungry.” Stan stumbled awkwardly over his words and Kyle realized his expression must have given away his confusion. 

“Pizza would be awesome,” Kyle admitted, rising to his feet with nearly embarrassing speed. The thought of food had him animated, and Stan seemed to have noticed, a ghost of genuine amusement flitting over his lips. 

“You, uh – cut your hair.” Stan said with a similar awkwardness to his last articulation as they left the room, Stan tailing Kyle this time. “I mean, obviously you’ve cut your hair in the last two years, but – you’re wearing it differently now.” 

“Yeah, I’m a slave to trends.” Kyle responded sardonically, but not without a little honesty. He carded a hand through the thick curls that remained a constant source of frustration and struggle, pushing them to the side ever so slightly. Most of the time he managed to style them into something useful, but having been on a plane since dawn, they were emblematic of his exhaustion. He kept the sides of his head close cropped now, though, a look that perhaps worked better with straight hair than his own, but it worked for him, and he had gotten a few compliments on it in the past. 

“Nah, it looks good.” Stan offered, off-hand, seeming to relax again. “Though it’s almost the same style as Bebe has now.” 

“Bebe has short hair?” Kyle asked incredulously as they padded into the kitchen. He moved to the corner of the counter as Stan made his way to the fridge, not wishing to impose. “Shit, a lot really has changed.” 

“Yeah, dude, she cut it a few months ago. It honestly looks great on her, who’d have thought.” 

“She still with Clyde?” 

“Nah, that ended in first year, didn’t you hear? She turkey dumped him. Went off to California for college, came back at Thanksgiving and told him it was over. He was pretty devastated, but he shoulda seen it coming.” Stan pulled a grease-stained cardboard box from the fridge and set it upon the counter; Kyle was at his side, ready to dig in before Stan had even finished opening the lid. 

“And they’ve just been apart since then?” Kyle opened the cupboard and was pleasantly surprised to discover he still knew where the plates were. He grabbed one with a clatter of ceramic, and set it down next to the box, selecting two pieces when Stan stepped aside and wordlessly indicated for him to help himself. 

“I think they hooked up a few times, but Bebe got this boyfriend in Cali who she was on-again-off-again with, and that kinda screwed things up. Clyde dealt with all that a lot better than I expected, though. He’s really grown up a lot since high school.” Stan’s tone edged on superiority, and Kyle remembered the way Stan’s fingers had sloppily grabbed at his wrists while a tear-stained cheek pressed into his shoulder and Kyle wondered if Stan thought he had grown up since high school too. He also wondered how much he had changed since that night – Kyle knew he had. 

“Yeah, he drove me into town and he seems way more chill than he used to be. He said he wants to move out of South Park soon, which is probably gonna be good for him. I think seeing more of the world would do him a lotta good.” Kyle mused, before taking a rather disgustingly large bite of pizza. It took effort not to allow himself a low noise of pleasure at the thick, salty taste, and he nearly turned away from Stan so that he didn’t have to feel ashamed at just how starved he felt. 

“Yeah, I’m considering going away for a while too.” This news didn’t shock Kyle, but his brows still raised in interest as he chewed an undignified amount of food, indicating Stan should continue. “Just for a couple of weeks, maybe drive up to Washington, Seattle, that sorta area. Just see a bit more of the country, you know?” 

“Definitely,” Kyle said thickly, his focus still on his food, though he listened with rapt interest. This was the most he had gotten out of Stan in years, and even if it was just a trickle of personal details, Kyle didn’t want to do or say anything to stop the flow. “You should definitely do that. When are you thinking of going?” 

“End of the summer, maybe? Like, August-September sorta deal. I’ll have to see with work, though.” Stan leaned back against the counter before he reached for a piece of pizza himself, not bothering with a plate like Kyle had. 

“Cool, that would be so awesome.” Kyle quietly hoped he wasn’t being too enthusiastic, to the point of sounding patronizing. “I’ve been wanting to do some travelling but with school and stuff, then just working over the summers, I really haven’t had time or money. It’ll probably still take me a few years to make that a possibility.” He started on his second piece of pizza with slightly more restraint than the first, which had been ravenously inhaled in a matter of minutes. 

“What kinda jobs are you interested in doing?” 

“Fuck if I know.” Kyle admitted honestly, setting his plate down on the counter as he took a breath between bites. “It’s kinda hard to do anything with a degree in math, other than just keep being an academic, which I don’t really want to do. I mean, it would be cool, but I can’t do a PhD., that’s way too much school.” 

“Yeah, fair. What about, like, accounting?” 

“That’s kinda its own thing – I dunno, I might just look for some sort of office job and see where that takes me.” Kyle shrugged, returning to his pizza as Stan finished off his first piece. 

“So, how are things in New York? Still at the same place?” 

“No, I’m in Queens now, it’s a lot cheaper. Longer commute to school, but that’s not so much of a worry anymore.” 

“Cool – d’you have a roommate?” 

“Yeah, I’m still living with Same and Katie – Sam’s thinking of moving out, though, so we might have to find a new third roommate, it’s too pricy for just two of us.” 

“Ah, yeah, that’s fair.” 

“Yeah, how about you, you said you were thinking of getting your own place?” 

“Yeah, I’m twenty-two now, don’t wanna be living with my parents forever. And there’s a few affordable places nearby, I could rent with someone and split the cost for about four hundred per month.” 

“For an apartment? That’s super cheap.” 

“No, dude, for a house.” 

Kyle nearly dropped his plate. “Four hundred a month, between two people, for a house? Holy shit.” 

Stan laughed. “You really have been in New York for a long time – yeah that’s pretty typical for South Park.” 

“Dude, I pay twice that for one bedroom in Queens.” 

“Guess maybe you shoulda stayed here, for the housing prices of course.” There was an edge to Stan’s joke, but Kyle chose to ignore it, other than to drop his gaze for a moment as he laughed into his last bite of his second piece of pizza, thumb tightening on his plate in nervousness. 

“Woulda saved me thousands of dollars, that’s for sure.” Kyle moved to the sink, busying himself by washing his plate. He could feel Stan watching him from across the kitchen, but he did nothing to catch Stan’s eye. 

“So, you got a – you seeing anyone out in New York?” the question was posed casually enough, but Kyle nearly dropped his plate. 

“Uh – no. I was. For a bit. This girl, her name was Daniela, but it didn’t really last. She was cool, but it was pretty casual, then she found this dude she was convinced was the love of her life, and we kinda broke things off.” Kyle picked at an invisible stain on the plate with a sponge. “You?” 

“Not anymore. I actually was dating Ruby Tucker for a while, much to Craig’s disgust, but she was, y’know, a Tucker. Cold, distant, not very communicative. But it lasted about eight months. Kinda stung when we broke up, but that was back in November. Since then I’ve just kinda been focusing on work.” 

“Cool, cool.” Kyle put the dish in the drying rack, wringing out the sponge with meticulous care. “Did you tell your family?” The words were blurted out without thought, and Kyle cringed at his own bluntness. Then again, he had never been particularly tactful. 

Stan seemed to stiffen, but perhaps that was Kyle projecting, as he still hadn’t turned to look at him. “Uh, no, not really. I told a few people like Kenny and Butters and stuff, and I’m a bit more open about it, but I didn’t wanna make it into a big deal with my family. Did you?” 

“Yeah. Ike said, ‘knew it,’ and my dad was just kinda awkward – I think he was fine with it, he just didn’t really know how to express that – and my mom cooked this big meal for me and told me she was proud of me and really happy I told them and stuff.” 

“Yeah – that’s cool.” Stan stalled for a moment, but Stan said nothing, knowing Stan was building up the courage to an admission. As he turned back around, finally, Stan blurted out a series of words Kyle had not been expecting to hear, followed by Stan flushing nearly the same colour as the tomato sauce that stained the left side of his lower lip. “I hooked up with Kenny after I told him.” 

“Wait, what the fuck?” Kyle was too shocked to be made upset by this news, though a small dredge of jealousy washed up in his gut. “Kenny? You hooked up with Kenny?” 

“Yeah, it just kinda happened!” Stan rushed to explain himself, and Kyle couldn’t help but be a little overjoyed to be this side of Stan, the sort that was honest and a little awkward and never quite able to properly express what he intended. It felt more genuine than the smiling automaton that had met him at the door. “I told him, ‘hey, when I was in New York I kinda realized I was into dudes too,’ and he was all like, ‘really? So you hooked up with a guy?’ and I was like, ‘no,’ and so he was like, ‘how do you know, then?’ and I guess I said I just kinda do, then all of a sudden he was coming onto me – I should specify we had both had a few beers and smoked a bowl, but still – it wasn’t a big deal, it only happened once – okay, a couple of times, but it wasn’t a big deal.” Stan was repeating himself, speaking too quickly to understand fully, and Kyle realized that he hadn’t moved since Stan had said Kenny’s name the first time, and wondered if his shock was reading as judgment to Stan. He quickly fixed his expression into something mild, or something he hoped seemed more mild than the alarm that had spread coldly through his form. “We didn’t fuck, we just kinda – made out a bunch and stuff. Hasn’t happened since last year, though.” 

“Holy shit,” was all Kyle could bring himself to say, and he relaxed back against the counter, attempting to process this information. Stan and Kenny had never really had any sort of chemistry between them – they had stayed friends through high school, but Kyle had never seen them as close, nor having any sort of connection other than there propensity for dark humour, and a mutual appreciation for watching Cartman get his ass kicked. Then again, who didn’t love to see that. “Um – how’s Kenny doing?”

“Good.” Stan seemed relieved that Kyle’s first question hadn’t been ‘Stan, what the fuck is wrong with you?’ though that question still hung heavily in Kyle’s mind. “He’s working all over the place, but he managed to move out. He’s living with Karen, actually, and Kevin from our grade and Butters. They’re all renting this house on the edge of town together, it’s a bit run down, but a helluva lot better than the pace Kenny and Karen grew up in.” 

“I’m surprised Butter’s family let him move away. His parents were always insane.” Kyle had so many unasked questions regarding what Stan had just admitted to him, but he knew it was too early to ask. He would wait until tonight, when he’d gotten a few drinks in Stan. 

“It took him until last year to get out of there, and honestly I think it was their crazy that finally drove him to leave. He visits them a lot, though, apparently. I think he feels guilty because he doesn’t think they can really look after themselves. Which is probably kinda fair – not Butters being guilty, but just them not being able to handle, y’know, life.” 

“Yeah, guess so.” Kyle didn’t know what else to say, so he let silence overcome the room – after what Stan had said only a few minutes previous, however, the silence felt uncomfortable, and Kyle jumped to fill it. “So, you talked to Wendy recently?” 

“Yeah, she was sad she couldn’t make it back, but she’s still working on her Master’s, and she’s starting law school in September, and with everything she just didn’t think she could find the time to make it down.” Kyle felt a twinge of jealousy for Wendy’s success – she had everything laid out in front of her, her path to glory lit up brightly as she continued along it. “She’s actually pre-engaged. To that guy she started seeing in first year, which is pretty crazy.” 

“Pre-engaged, what the hell does that even mean?” Kyle snorted, always critical of Wendy’s successes, if only to make himself feel better. 

“Like, they wanna get engaged, but they’re not ready for a wedding and stuff, and they don’t wanna pick dates and have to plan it, but they know that that’s what they want in the future.” 

Wendy had always gotten what Kyle had wanted, a step ahead of him, from childhood into adulthood. She had been the top of their class, she had gotten into Yale, now she had a sense of purpose and stability that Kyle would have killed for. And she had gotten Stan. She had gotten Stan before Kyle knew that he wanted Stan, and she had managed to maintain friendship with them even after breaking his heart. Something Kyle hadn’t managed. And the worst part was that Kyle couldn’t even hate her – she got everything he had ever wanted, and still had so much kindness and grace and passion that Kyle even be jealous without feeling guilty about it. 

“I’m disappointed she couldn’t make it back, though.” Stan said after a moment, shrugging as he went to put the pizza box back into the fridge. “Would have been nice to see her.” 

“Yeah, same.” Kyle was secretly relieved, however – not having Wendy there put him one step closer to being the most educated person in the room. Twenty-two and still insecure as hell, that was Kyle. And he felt worse knowing that Wendy herself wouldn’t have cared, unlike Kyle, she felt no need to prove anything. 

“So, we still got a few hours until dinner, what do you wanna do?” Stan said, after a moment of silence passed between them, less uncomfortable than the last, but still not without its thickness. 

Kyle wanted to say, ‘I want to talk to you, actually really talk, you know? I wanna talk to you about when we were ten and you got drunk and told me I was a piece of shit but you said you loved me. I wanna talk about when you were thirteen and you told me you wished I had been your first kiss not Wendy, then tried to tell me it was because you wanted practice before you kissed a girl, but you were blushing and you wouldn’t look at me. I wanna talk about when we were fifteen and you tried to climb through my window and you were drunk but you hadn’t been at a party, you had just gotten drunk alone and you curled up next to me in my bed and told me you were scared and you felt isolated and alone. I wanna talk about that night after grad when we lay in the grass by Stark’s Pond and talked about all the things we wanted to accomplish, and you told me we would never lose each other, and I wanna talk about when you came to visit. I wanna talk about why you were crying and I wanna talk about how I felt when you left. I wanna talk about why I’m still angry, and I wanna talk about why you won’t open up to me, and I wanna talk about why the fuck you hooked up with Kenny of all people.’ 

But he didn’t say any of that. He just shrugged – “We could walk around town a bit, see what’s changed over the past few years?” 

“Cool.” Was all Stan said. 

They had almost run out of small talk by the time they made it to the dinner, their cheeks dusted with mauve and rose from the cold, mid-spring air. With so much unsaid between them, twenty minutes of discussing Jessica Jones versus Daredevil, versus Luke Cage (Stan still hadn’t seen it) felt awkward and uninspired, the slow progression of their boots through sluggish snowbanks, and the bend of their back against the wind oddly fitting given the awkward difficulty with which they spoke to each other, struggling against a merciless winter that had arisen in their friendship. Kyle instantly chastised himself at the thought – his melodrama made him sound like fourteen-year-old Stan. He had still never admitted to Stan the time he had snooped in his bedroom and found his book full of handwritten poetry. He hadn’t been surprised (though he certainly had been distraught) by all of the poems about darkness and being alone, but he had been confused by the multitude of unrequited love poems – at that point, Stan and Wendy were still dating, and Stan’s love for her seemed quite returned. He had always felt guilty for breaking Stan’s trust like that, but he had never admitted to Stan what he had done. 

Kyle’s gaze lit up as he moved further into the restaurant, pulling down the zipper of his coat, his body flooding with warm relief as biting winds were left behind in favour of cozier, artificial warmth. Faces he recognized all turned in greeting, and Kyle found himself more nostalgic and fond of these people than he recalled ever being before. Clyde was the only one who didn’t rise to greet him (he had, of course, taken him into town, they had already performed the ceremony of hugs and excitement) and he just smiled and offered a half-wave before returning back to his menu. The table meant for eight was packed with ten chairs, and Kyle was both disappointed and relieved to see that he and Stan would be separated by Bebe and Craig, and set across the table from one another. As much as Kyle desperately wanted to sort everything out between them, he was exhausted by their discomfort around one another, the careful calculation of every syllable passed between them driving Kyle to near exasperation. 

“Kyle, oh my god, you got so hot!” Bebe swept him down into a hug, and Kyle laughed in pleasant embarrassment as he bent over awkwardly to embrace her; she had barely grown passed eighth grade, and had made it to an average five-four, but that still put nearly a foot of difference between the two of them. Stan was right, her new hair cut was in fact nearly the same as Kyle’s, though it looked much better on her. She had filled out, too, he was relieved to see (in high school, the rumours of Bebe’s eating disorder had been the subject of much gossip for months at a time) and a full figure and wide grin brought life to her form. She seemed to fit her body in a way she never had before, from her animated expression to her joyful gestures. “It’s so good to see you, sweetie, c’mon, put your coat down!” 

Kyle did as she indicated, and barely had time to think before he was drawn into a nearly violent hug by someone about his size. “Jesus, Kenny!” he recognized the other’s laugh and his smell before he saw his face. When Kenny pulled back to look at him, Kyle’s smile broadened, despite the news Stan had provided him with earlier. Kenny looked healthier than he had when Kyle had left; he was still gaunt in the cheeks, and his shadowed eyes did little to hide his exhaustion, but his smile was oddly genuine, and he seemed to have put on at least a little weight since Kyle had left. 

“Kyle, dude, you look like shit!” Kenny’s honesty made Kyle cringe a little, but it was nice to finally hear someone talk to him without being rather irritatingly guarded. “What’s college done to you, man? And what the fuck’s with the hair? You took the New York aesthetic way too far, you look like a total douche.” Despite his cruelty, Kenny still held Kyle’s shoulders and laughed as he spoke, and Kyle couldn’t help but reciprocate. 

“Hey, Stan said he liked the haircut!” Sort of. Stan had acknowledged it. Oh god, Stan hadn’t liked it, Kyle realized. With no small amount of insecurity, Kyle reached for it, attempting to fix what five hours on a plane, and two in the wind had done to it – he doubted that anything short of a miracle could fix that. “At least I cut my hair, what the fuck is that, a man-bun? Is it still three years ago in South Park?” 

Kenny just laughed, taking no insult from Kyle’s words. “Not all of us can afford fancy haircuts every month from their snooty uptown barber who gossips with them about whether or not Tom Cruise is gay.” 

Kyle opened his mouth to retort, but then realized he had had almost that exact conversation with his barber, although it had been about John Travolta rather than Tom Cruise. “Well, you still look like garbage.” 

“And you now look like you go to Julliard and suck all the male musical theatre student’s dicks.” 

“Maybe I do. Maybe that’s my new favourite passed time.” 

“Then more power to you, man, that haircut really sells that story.” 

“Go fuck yourself.” Kyle laughed and Kenny squeezed his arm. Despite their constant bickering that had begun in middle school and continued, apparently, until now, Kenny was one of the most genuinely brave and kind people Kyle knew. He hadn’t realized until now just how much he had missed him. 

Kyle gave pleasant greetings and a few hugs to all those remaining there, telling Nichole that he loved her dress, shaking Token’s hand before being drawn into a manly-hug-pat that was so pointedly heterosexual Kyle nearly rolled his eyes. Craig actually managed to say a greeting rather than just nodding, and Tweek gave him a nervous half-wave from across the table. If Butters had grown much taller than five-eight, he would have barreled Kyle over with the force of his hug, before he began to talk animatedly for three whole minutes until Kenny nearly quite literally dragged him away, making an offhand joke about Butters picking up a coke habit, but Kyle silently wondered if Kenny wasn’t joking after all. As he finally managed to take his seat, Kyle was told by Bebe that Jimmy would join them at the bar but couldn’t make it to dinner, despite being invited, and Kenny confirmed what Kyle had been desperately hoping to hear – Cartman hadn’t been invited, to the dinner, at least. 

The dinner was both more and less exhausting than Kyle had anticipated; his anxieties regarding alienating himself due to his college experiences, both negative and positive, was soon replaced with a simple tiredness at repeating the same stories, information, and facts about the past five years again and again and again, to different people who all gave him the same, polite, semi-interested responses and continued asking the same questions about living in a big city, and about what Ike was up to, and about what it was like going to Columbia. He was thankful at every break between dialogues, the arrival of his food being the most welcome of these, as it gave him an excuse not to talk, despite still feeling rather full from the pizza earlier. 

He did, however, find the gossip of the town fascinating, and listened with rapt interest as he heard everyone’s stories of sex and betrayal and drunken fistfights. He knew it was little petty of him, but he found gossip endlessly entertaining, and stayed silent as Tweek to him about his break up with Craig in first year (Craig stared nearly alarmingly at Kyle throughout Tweek’s entire retelling of the story, as if some part of him was curious to see Kyle’s reaction) and their subsequent close friendship after the fact. Kyle almost choked on his pasta when Tweek finished the story and Craig said emotionlessly, “We still fuck sometimes.” 

He was surprised to hear that Nichole and Bebe had dated between second and third year, and even more surprised when Nichole leaned across the table to ask if Kyle was seeing anyone these days. As a result, Kyle dropped a piece of penne into his lap, and cursed as he watched the oily crème sauce stain his pants, which soon turned to indignation when Token snorted at his response. The best story of all, however, was without question Kenny’s retelling of Cartman and Butters getting into a fist fight after Cartman made fun of Butters’ tap dancing past. 

“Well, it wasn’t so much that he was makin’ fun,” Butter said with some trepidation, “I’m real used to that from Eric, but he said it was easy! An’ I was havin’ a real rough day, you know? And Eric said that, and I got real mean.” 

“Dude, it was like switch was flipped, one second, he was Butters, the next he was a tiny, blonde, tap-dancing Terminator.” Kenny cut in, voyeuristic excitement broadening his already stretched grin. 

While Stan didn’t join in on many of the regaled stories, Kyle could feel his eyes on him throughout much of the dinner conversation, as if Stan were watching every reaction of him, attempting to piece together the narrative of who Kyle had become. After a while, Kyle began to meet these gazes, looking up towards Stan until Stan would notice and avert his own eyes, turning back to talk to Clyde about something innocuous. Frustration began to pool in Kyle’s lungs (Stan had no right to examine him as if he were some sort of specimen) but he attempted to ignore it, knowing it would do him no good. Then again, Kyle had never been very good at letting go of his anger. 

By the time they had paid their bills and stood to redress for the winter evening, Kyle could sense Stan making his way back towards him, and so Kyle hung back for an extra moment as everyone made their way towards the door, an excited hum of chatter prefacing the walk to Skeeter’s. 

“Hey – “ Stan nearly reached for Kyle’s arm but he stopped himself, shoving his hand awkwardly into his coat pocket while the other hung limply at his side. Stan almost felt sorry for him for a moment, but he didn’t let it show on his expression. He still had full intentions of going through on his plan – get Stan drunk, get him to explain. Maybe even get him to apologize. He felt a little dirty thinking about it, wanting to take advantage of Stan like that, but he had cause, Kyle thought. “I’m really glad you came back. 

“Yeah.” Was all Kyle could say. Whether it was a ‘yeah, me too,’ or a ‘yeah, I know you are,’ Kyle didn’t specify. He wasn’t even certain he knew himself. 

“Listen, I – I know we have a lot to talk about.” Kyle was caught off guard – he had, of course, been anticipating this conversation, but not until Stan had had at least four or five drinks. “But I just – I wanted to thank you for coming back. I know you didn’t do it for me, but you coulda stayed with someone else, but you’re staying with me. And it means a lot that you’re willing to do that.” 

“Don’t – “ Kyle was pleasantly surprised by how cold his voice sounded when he spoke, his determination aptly communicated by a quiet but firm direction. Stan’s brows shot upwards, and he seemed taken aback, Kyle noted with satisfaction. “Don’t think you’re off the hook for what happened. I’m staying with you so that you can’t avoid me. You’re damn right we have a lot to talk about, and we will, when the time’s right.” 

“Kyle, I just want you to know – “ 

“I don’t care.” The anger that Kyle had prayed he could keep at bay swept down in a maelstrom of aggression that balled itself in Kyle’s fists and tightened his jaw. For the sake of their public location, Kyle kept his voice low, his words muttered into the few feet of space between them. “I don’t care if you’re sorry, I don’t care if I was your best friend, I don’t care how much you feel like you lost that day.” 

“I know, but – “ 

“I don’t care who you are, no one does what you did to my brother.” 

And with that, Kyle pushed his open palm onto the glass of the restaurant door, leaving Stan to hover in the dimmed lights while the frigid and disturbingly clean cut of South Park air flooded into his lungs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than the first chapter, also unedited because I'm a dumbass, and written at 1:45 AM. Hopefully it's a little clearer than the first chapter, I tried to clean up some of my writing. I got the comment that I can be 'confusing and verbose' and yes you are very very correct I apologize, I'm used to both 1. academic writing, and 2., tumblr rp, where your writing's aesthetic has an aesthetic. 
> 
> Hopefully this chapter will be enjoyable for y'all! I have one more coming after this one.

By the time Kyle made it to the bar, he was nearly out of breath, relieved by the warmth and the slightly cramped dimness of the unfamiliar space (Kyle had never been old enough to drink publically when he lived in South Park, hence Skeeters had become a forbidden zone past his occasional innocent ventures inside during his childhood). During his impassioned walk through the frigid night, Kyle’s violent fury had dissipated into thundering anger, and then simply into a rhythmic resentment that drummed below his skin, settling in his stomach with a familiar feeling of anxiety and helplessness. 

Kyle was glad that Stan hadn’t followed after him. Curiosity had gotten the better of him once he had made it a few blocks from the restaurant, and he had briefly checked over his shoulder to see if Stan would follow, but he didn’t, although this caused Kyle a moment of slight panic as he wondered if he had taken a wrong turn, but Google Maps reassured him that he hadn’t. 

Ten minutes later, he was out of the cold, but his relief was only momentary as he began to be flooded with greetings from old classmates on the brink of being strangers. He remembered most of their names, though there were a few he quite honestly hadn’t thought about since graduation, who greeted him with bright smiles and hugs as if they had shared something special. 

“ ‘Ey – Kyle!” The voice was too familiar not to elicit a sigh of exhausted resignation from Kyle as he pulled away from a mindless small-talk conversation with Annie, who chattered away to him as if she and Kyle had actually missed each other. She smiled brightly, exiting the conversation with a polite, ‘we should catch up while you’re in town!’ which Kyle nodded and smiled at, though he couldn’t honestly think of any time he had ever had a conversation consisting of more than five sentences between them in all thirteen years of schooling. 

“Cartman.” Kyle said evenly in greeting. At least Cartman had chosen not to address him with an insult directed either at his Jewish upbringing, or his appearance, though Cartman still spoke with his obnoxious accent, turning the ‘I’ sound in Kyle’s name into a whined ‘ah.’ Cartman waddled over to Kyle, slipping between the crowd with a graceless step, already a few drinks in, it seemed. Other than styling his hair a little differently, Cartman hadn’t really changed much since Kyle had seen him last – average in height, almost disturbingly boyish in his features, and heavy set – but his cheeks were ruddy from alcohol and his eyes were a little more watery than usual. 

During his first handful of semesters, Kyle had often fallen asleep fantasizing of a final confrontation between himself and Cartman, a triumphant return to South Park wherein Kyle would be able to flaunt his university success in front of a ruined and perpetually emotionally stunted Cartman, and provide a lengthy and damning speech, outing Cartman for all of his crimes and sins, and all of the childhood turbulence and trauma could finally be put to bed. Time had progressed, however, and Kyle’s anger had subsided into a dull resentment that only ever seemed to flare up if he heard or saw another speak positively of Cartman, which very rarely occurred, other than when Kyle stalked Cartman’s instagram page and saw revering comments from Cartman’s classmates. Even then, Kyle’s anger would only ever last for a few seconds at a time. 

After all these years, Kyle realized he had nothing to say to Cartman anymore. He had nothing to brag about (Cartman had graduated before him, with a higher GPA as he had bragged about on Facebook, and now was working an upper-level financial internship, the one saving grace of which gave Kyle pleasure being that it was unpaid) and no witty one liner to walk away with that would leave Cartman utterly destroyed. All those nights spent in first year dreaming up the perfect decimation of Cartman’s character had been for naught. But the apathy was in and of itself refreshing. 

“I’m surprised you made it back,” Cartman said bitingly, forever regarding Kyle with a judgmental gaze, as if analyzing every muscle in Kyle’s face for a signal of weakness, that his often cruel words were hitting their mark. Kyle had never been particularly skilled at hiding his responses, and his volatile temper never served him well, especially when dealing with Cartman, but adulthood had taught him that sometimes he did have to pick his battles (he still picked most of them). “I heard you might be taking another semester – how many is that now? Twelve? Fourteen? I guess college really did expand your mind beyond your roots –––– most of your people would never shell out that extra money so easily.” 

Of course Kyle wanted to punch him. And maybe he would have if he wasn’t already so emotionally exhausted from dealing with Stan – but instead he let out a sharp sigh through his nose, rolling his eyes immaturely. Trust Cartman to make him regress to the state of his fourteen-year-old self. “No, I finished my last semester, and I only took an extra year, since I switched my major and wanted to actually get an education, not just a job. Speaking of which, whom exactly in that firm did your mom blow to get you that internship? Because if there was an interview process, there’s no way in hell they would have let your intolerant ass in there. I bet HR knows you on a first name basis by now.“ Kyle was silently proud of himself for not regressing far enough to call Cartman a ‘fatass’, though he was sorely tempted many times throughout his speech.

Much to both Kyle’s relief and displeasure, Cartman grinned, though something in his gaze told Kyle that some of his words had hit their mark, even if Cartman had gained a semblance of a sense of humour over the years. “Oh, Kyle, please, don’t stop, the sound of your righteous jealousy is sweet music to my ears.” 

“Fuck off.” Kyle responded begrudgingly, shaking his head at Cartman as Carman raised his half-empty bottle of beer to his lips with a knowing smirk. Kyle couldn’t tell if Cartman had gotten more or less human in the five years they’d been apart; it was even more difficult to tell if Cartman was vaguely amused by their exchange or planning to tear Kyle’s throat out if he managed to get him alone, and Kyle wasn’t sure he wanted to know either way. He had spent so long defining himself by his intense hatred of everything Cartman stood for, finding a change either way would be difficult to swallow. “I’m not jealous, because I actually have paying jobs ahead of me.” Hypothetically, of course.

Kyle was glad when Cartman’s attention was drawn elsewhere by the arrival of Stan, the shadow of which caught the corner of Kyle’s eye. Despite their exchange in the restaurant only perhaps fifteen minutes earlier, Kyle already felt his rage had dissipated, though he knew the same couldn’t be said for Stan. Kyle burned hot and quickly, his temper volatile to a doomsday level, but only for minutes at a time, then he would lose all care for what had, moments before, been a source of impassioned fury. Stan, on the other hand, tended to keep things quiet and close to his heart, bottling up until finally everything came out, but each source of anger or upset would eat away at him slowly, eroding his gut until it was too much for him to handle. He knew Stan would still be sore from their argument, but Kyle wasn’t entirely remorseful about that. He hadn’t said all he needed to say, but at least now Stan knew that Kyle wouldn’t let what happened be swept under the rug. 

“Stan!” Cartman’s greeting of Stan was as similarly mocking as Cartman’s of Kyle, and Kyle couldn’t help but roll his eyes once more when Cartman kept speaking. Kyle couldn’t remember rolling his eyes since he was at least seventeen ––– God, he hated Cartman. “Did you see? The Prodigal Son has returned ––– well, definitely not Prodigal, and not Jesus’ Prodigal Son, obviously, but ––– “ 

“Yeah, Cartman, I know.” Stan had always been more patient with Cartman, and for that reason, whenever he managed to land a slight, it always felt more powerful than any of the chastising Kyle dealt out. Stan was well versed in the art of subtlelty when it came to conversing with others, something Kyle certainly was not himself skilled in. Whatever Stan did in fact say next, however, Kyle didn’t hear, as he was distracted by a beer being thrust into his hand, and an arm being slung around his neck. 

“You’ll get the next round,” Kyle frowned slightly as he took the beer from Kenny, but he supposed it was only fair (even if this first beer hadn’t been his idea.) With a tug against his form, Kyle was lead a few steps away from the crowd, a little too dazed by this abrupt turn of events to fight back, allowing Kenny to do whatever it was he wished to. It crossed Kyle’s mind that, of all the people back in South Park, Kenny was the only one Kyle completely trusted anymore, though Kenny had always been a trustworthy person. A horrible procrastinator, the most disorganized person Kyle knew, and occasionally flaky, yes, Kenny was guilty of all of those things, but he was never unreliable, and he always came through in the end. And he had the most startling capacity for empathy that Kyle had ever encountered. “Hey, you good, dude? Seemed a little tense back there at the restaurant with you and Stan, then you showed up alone, is everything okay? If you don’t feel comfortable staying with him, you can always crash on the couch with me. It’s not much, but if you don’t feel okay about shit ––––“ 

“No, dude, it’s all good. We just haven’t really –––– talked. About what happened.” Kyle spoke quietly, thumb nervously edging at the label on the bottle, which was already wrinkled and soggy from condensation. Knowing his own anxious habits, he’d rip that label into a hundred pieces within the next half hour. 

“Shit, yeah.” Kenny let out a huffing sigh that Kyle felt against his torso, as Kenny hadn’t yet removed his arm. Kenny took a long swig of his beer, and Kyle realized that Kenny was doing so to give Kyle further opportunity for explanation. 

Kenny had been one of the only people that Kyle had actually told what happened back in second year, a few days after it happened on a late-night skype call that had quite nearly ended in tears on Kyle’s half. Throughout the entire ordeal he had been forced to keep a calm head, but when he recounted it all to Kenny, all of the anger and indignation had rushed to the surface, fears and anxieties clawing at the back of his throat until finally it all overwhelmed him. He had managed to say goodnight to Kenny, at four-thirty in the morning, and close his laptop before he broke down in tears. 

“I wouldn’t have come back if Stan hadn’t apologized to Ike.” Kyle confessed to Kenny, trying to be cautious in the selection of his words, but truthfully, he was simply trying to justify his return, his very desire to offer Stan forgiveness, despite what had occurred. “Apparently a few months after everything happened, Stan sent this really long email to Ike, trying to explain and apologize. Ike forwarded it to me, and said it felt sincere to him, and he was ready to forgive Stan. I wasn’t, but I told him to do what he thought was best. Stan never even mentioned to me that he was gonna talk to Ike, I mean, we weren’t really talking back then, but, I could tell this wasn’t about me, he wasn’t trying to get back in my good books or whatever, so ––– I guess, I thought, a couple of years later, I could give him a chance.” 

“So, what’s changed?” 

“I don’t know, it just feels like he doesn’t –––– get it.” Kyle realized how exasperated his words sounded, especially when faced with the questioning look provided by Kenny. 

“Because he’s not groveling on his hands and knees for your forgiveness?” 

“I mean, yeah, kind of.” 

“Would you rather he grovel or would you rather he actually gave a shit?” 

“Is it too much to ask for both?” 

“Yep.” 

“Shit.” 

Kenny smiled at him ruefully, and Kyle took a swig of his beer, secretly a little dejected as Kenny’s arm fell from around his shoulders. “Look, do you want my opinion?” 

“Honestly, more than anyone else here’s.” 

“Give him a second chance, dude. Look, during his first year and a half at community college, Stan was a fuckin’ nightmare. I mean, I don’t blame him totally, everyone gets a bit fucked up when they have to become adults, especially someone who was so sheltered from the real world by their parents like he was, I mean, not to the same extent that you were, but you got to keep living that life a few years longer than him. He just, like, I dunno, he was partying all the time, kept dropping classes, was considering dropping out for a while, and honestly every week I thought I was finally gonna hear that he had a mental breakdown.” Despite Kenny’s blunt wording, Kyle could tell the implications behind what Kenny was saying. He had watched it happen to Stan too, from a distance. He had watched him become less communicative, watched his priorities shift to pub nights and mixers, to when he could numb out the anxieties of adult life for a few hours at a time. 

Kenny was also right that Kyle had gotten to live in his own bubble for longer than Stan ––– it had taken until third year, when Kyle’s parents stopped giving him as much money, and when all of a sudden he was nearly failing courses, and was sent into panic attacks so severe he couldn’t move his limbs, that he began to understand that the world was larger than what he had experienced. 

Kenny continued. “Then he went away for that week, and when he came back, it was like –––– he just shut off. He stopped going out, he skipped out on classes apparently, I didn’t see him for a while, then one day, it was like he just –––– got his shit together. He got more serious about his job, more realistic about his classes and stuff, started taking better care of himself, going to the gym, actually getting rest. And he stopped binge drinking too, which was a bit of a relief. Moved out of his parents, just –––– made a lot of good changes. Only difference was that he never talked about you anymore. I guess we all kinda guessed something happened, not that I ever told anyone else what you told me, but he really seemed to be changing. He was going through some serious shit when that happened, but I think he’s ready to deal with this, Kyle.” 

Kyle had begun to tear at the label on his bottle already, his gaze staying on the peeling green paper, not wanting for Kenny to read Kyle’s expression too closely. He knew Kenny was right, but he still wanted to be angry, if only because he was confused and didn’t know what to think, and anger gave him something concrete to hold on to. 

“I just feel like, I dunno, Ike should be involved.” 

“Didn’t Ike say he forgave him?” 

“Ike was barely fourteen at the time. Hell, he’s barely seventeen now. I don’t know if he’d really be able to understand – “ 

“Kyle, dude, I get the protective older sibling thing, I really do, but that’s Ike’s decision, not yours. Honestly, I think the last thing Ike wants is to be involved. That loose end is all tied up, stop making excuses to not deal with it.” 

Kyle frowned into his beer, his glance to Kenny perhaps a little sheepish as he responded. “I’m not making excuses. This is just – hard.” 

“Yeah, well, life is hard, it’s time for you and Stan to kiss and make up. Probably literally.” Kyle scowled pointedly at Kenny. “Again.” 

“Yeah, cause that worked out so well last time.” 

“Neither of you are nineteen year old boys anymore. You’re adults with adult lives and adult heads on your shoulders. Now stop acting like a kid. Get a few drinks in you, then have a nice heart to heart about your feelings.” Kenny managed to say even the most sincere sentiments with an edge of facetious mockery that made Kyle feel a little made fun of. But he knew Kenny well enough to never be offended. “Though the offer still stands for the couch. I’m serious. Just text me either way, bro.” 

“Yeah –––––––– thanks.” Kyle finally said, resigned. He knew Kenny was right, and so he forced himself to take another swig. He realized that between this beer and the one that would take him out the door, hopefully with Stan, he had a duty to perform as one of the town’s guests, and so he dropped his shoulders with a sigh as Kenny touched his arm and walked away, uncertain which he wanted to put off more: dealing with the Stan problem, or socializing. 

Kyle discovered that it took nine beers for him to work up the nerve to confront Stan. The group’s numbers had dwindled down by half, and Kyle was only half aware that, when he finally lumbered over to Stan that Stan was engaged in conversation with Clyde, seemingly about the upcoming football season. Setting his empty bottle on the bar next to them, Kyle lazily dropped a hand to Stan’s forearm, before staring at him with sincerity (and partially because he had to concentrate in order to see Stan properly through the haze of alcohol), hoping with desperation that Stan was has drunk as Kyle himself was. 

“Dude,” Kyle said, with what he hoped was passionate determination, but most likely sounded like drunken panic. “We need to talk.” 

Only after he spoke did he realize that, not only had he cut Clyde off mid-sentence, that, from the way Stan was regarding him, with mild amusement, pity, and patronizing written across his expression, that Stan was in fact not drunk in the slightest, and that the glass in his hand was filled halfway with coke, nothing more. All of a sudden, Kyle’s panic returned without remorse, fueled further by the presence of the alcohol in his blood. 

“Yeah, sure,” Stan said with a slight laugh, and Kyle realized that Stan’s light mood was for Kyle’s own sake, as he tried to make the incident out to their surrounding public (many of whom were sneaking glances their way, and Kyle flushed in humiliation as he realized he was making a scene) as something funny rather than as severely devastating as it had the potential to be for either of them. “I’ll catch up with you later, man ––– you should come over next week for the game, dude, I’m having some guys from work, you should join us.” Stan offered the invitation to Clyde with a friendly ease that Stan envied. Kyle had spent much of the night picking at beer bottle labels and hoping that his awkward attempts at interacting didn’t make his classmates hate him any more than Kyle assumed they already did. No, no, that was the alcohol talking. Kyle’s classmates didn’t hate him, they just didn’t think of him ever, the way he himself never thought of them. 

Stan tugged on Kyle’s sleeve and Kyle stumbled behind him to the door, glad for the cold winter air when they made it outside; Kyle took a long breath, allowing the frigid night to sober him up as much as it could, though his head still swam as they began to make their way back to Stan’s. Their first few steps were taken in silence, and, to Kyle’s surprise, it was Stan who spoke first. 

“I don’t want to talk about this while you’re drunk. We’ll go back to mine, you can sober up a bit, then we’ll talk.” 

“I assumed you’d be drunk too. Thought it would make it easier.” Kyle admitted sheepishly, focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other without crashing into Stan. He was occasionally unsuccessful in this task, but Stan didn’t seem to care. 

“I don’t drink more than three drinks in a night anymore.” Stan responded calmly. 

“I don’t usually either.” Kyle interjected quickly, “I’m not a big drinker, I just ––– lost count. And stuff.” 

“Hey, dude, no worries.” Stan offered Kyle a smile, and from what Kyle could tell, it seemed somewhat genuine, though Kyle saw three smiles and they were all blurry. “You can sleep it off, we’ll talk in the morning.” 

“Can I ask you something?” Kyle knew he was going against Stan’s suggestion, but the alcohol quickened his tongue, and he knew he wouldn’t ask this question if he was sober. 

“I guess, yeah, go for it.” 

“The thing with Ike, was it –––– because of me?” 

“Yeah, but not in the way you think.” Stan let out a sigh, but the speed of his response let Kyle know he had been preparing to answer this question. “After we fought, I just wanted to get out of there, and the way Ike was talking, he just ––– he sounded like he knew the city better than he did, and I guess I just kept thinking of how I was at fourteen, and of course, Ike isn’t me, and I was a lot dumber at fourteen than I thought I was, and it was a stupid mistake, but it wasn’t your fault. I don’t ––– I was always scared you’d, like, blame yourself for it. I guess that’s part of the reason I never tried to talk to you about it. I didn’t want you to forgive me if it meant you’d start blaming yourself.” 

“Oh, cut the martyr bullshit, Stan.” 

“I mean it, dude. Look, I do want to talk to you about this, but I want you to be sober. Not –––– this. Okay?” 

“You want me to be polite and take your bullshit, ‘s that it?” 

“No, I want you to be sober, so we can have a conversation.” 

“A conversation? Like we had before you kidnapped my brother, fed him drugs, and left him to die?” 

“Okay, I’m ready to take a beating from you about this, but you’ve gotta be fair. He was fourteen, I didn’t kidnap him, he was the one who was all about us leaving – not that I should have listened, but it was hardly against his will – second, I didn’t shovel bath salts down his throat, we smoked a couple of joints, and third, I didn’t mean to lose him. And, just to put this in fucking perspective, I was pretty drunk myself when that happened, so no, we didn’t have a conversation. Maybe that’s why I’m the one that’s sober right now.” 

Kyle fell silent for a moment, feeling embarrassed at his outburst, but not entirely abandoned by his righteous rage. “You left my fourteen year old brother alone in downtown Manhattan for five hours.” Kyle was surprised at how calm he managed to sound, despite the anger that simmered in his belly. Despite how furious he felt, emotion threatened to make his voice waver, and, god, maybe it was the beer, but he nearly felt on the verge of tears. “You were my best friend, and we had a fight, and you hurt the most important person to me, my little brother. All because you were mad at me. You put him in danger.” 

“I know. And I can never make that up to either of you.” The resignation in Stan’s voice was not new, Kyle could tell that. Even if Stan hadn’t spoken these words allowed before, they had been repeated in his head time and time again. Somehow, it didn’t feel satisfying. “I can’t excuse what happened, and I don’t – I don’t mean to. But it’s not something I would normally do, I made a mistake, I wasn’t in a good place.”

“And that makes it better?” 

“No, it doesn’t ––– look, please, can we just leave this until you’re sober?” 

“No.” Kyle said stubbornly, though in truth, all he wanted was the argument. If Stan had said he wanted to keep talking about this, odds are Kyle would have demanded rest first. “You said you didn’t want me to blame myself. Why the hell would I blame myself?” 

“Because ––- because you were the reason I left in the first place, I mean, you knew that, but –––“ 

“What, you think that because I drunkenly rejected you, I would think that that was to blame for you abandoning my brother while he was high?” 

“––––––Yeah, I guess I thought you would.” Kyle’s accusation seemed to catch Stan off guard, though Stan had a point. One that Kyle would normally be far more willing to accept. Before Kyle could continue his tirade, however, he realized they had reached the walkway to Stan’s front door, and when Kyle again began to stumble, he realized that rest would do him some good, if only because he was starting to notice the lights spinning around him again. 

“I’m –––– I’m setting an alarm.” Kyle said as he kicked his boots off at the door, one hitting the wall with a thunk, as Stan softly closed the door after him. “So that we’re gonna wake up, and we’re gonna talk. At nine o’clock tomorrow.” 

“Nine o’clock.” Stan repeated tiredly, leading them towards the stairs. 

“Nine o’clock.” Kyle said once more, hoping Stan couldn’t hear the fear in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is incredibly appreciated! Hope a few people are in for the last chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> feedback means the world to me! hope ur excited for pt 2 b/c i am!!


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